


Season's Greetings

by girlsarewolves



Category: Krampus (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Prompt Fic, my first coffee shop au, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 02:37:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5399699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/pseuds/girlsarewolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hot, steaming breath was damp on Max’s face as the looming figure finally came to a stop, having reached the counter. The curved horns scraped at the ceiling; the hooded coat, a dirty and deep red - like some twisted perversion of Santa’s - hid the face but Max could still make out stiff, unmoving features. And eyes; weird, inhuman eyes sunken in as though they did not belong to the face - a mask, a gaping, drooping mask of a face.</p><p>Long fingers slowly reached out, pointing towards the cup in Max’s hand.</p><p>(or, the coffee shop au that at least one person asked for)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Season's Greetings

**Author's Note:**

> I posted on tumblr asking for Krampus prompts and tumblr user sweetdreamr gave me coffee shop au and all of a sudden I finally had an idea of what to write for this fandom. XD My first Krampus fic is my first coffee shop fic! XD Feedback very much appreciated for this silly, little fic! (Also the title came to me because of the translation of 'Gruss vom Krampus - Greetings from (the) Krampus' and the popular phrase during this time of year, but also because of Michael Dougherty's little animated short that Sam from TrT originated from.)

* * *

The scent of peppermint was stifling. The inside of the cafe was overheated by the crowd of impatient, demanding customers. Seven a.m. on Christmas Eve, and everyone was demanding their seasonal coffee preference so they wouldn’t fall asleep while driving to the MuchoMart.

Beth was working the register, looking ready to stab the next person to curse at her (or next gross old man to flirt with her). Stevie and Jordan were shouting back at people - short fuses and easily riled to confrontations was not the mark of good customer service, but their mom owned half of the coffee shop, so they were never getting fired - and Omi was in the back, baking cookies and other delicious treats that everyone wanted but would find some small thing to complain about.

Max wanted to be ten again. Heck, he’s take thirteen at this point; as long as he was too young to get a job and thereby get stuck in the family business where he spent his Christmas Eves rushing to make perfect hot drink confections. He was pretty sure his fingers had third degree burns from the spills that had been inevitable and early to come.

This couldn’t be Christmas. It just couldn’t. Max had thought getting into a fight over Santa Claus’ existence at Christmas play when he was ten had been bad. It didn’t compare to this; being stuck with family you didn’t like but would take the side of against all the strangers who had decided that you were to blame for their poor gift-shopping timing.

A family - now dreaded - ring sounded, and Max knew it was another costumer coming in, instead of someone finally leaving. A harsh wind blew in with the newcomer, one that sent chills of something other than cold down Max’s spine. He knew the others felt it too; a tension seemed to grab both sets of siblings.

Even Omi had come to the kitchen door.

The back of the line began to part like the Red Sea, and on and on, all the other customers giving the new one a wide birth as he approached the counter. Every step was like a clap of thunder shaking the foundations; the jingle of bells and the rattle of chains accompanying each movement.

Max stood frozen with a cup of peppermint hot chocolate in his hands, the recipient of which lost in the cluster of people backed towards the walls, cowering from the newcomer.

Hot, steaming breath was damp on Max’s face as the looming figure finally came to a stop, having reached the counter. The curved horns scraped at the ceiling; the hooded coat, a dirty and deep red - like some twisted perversion of Santa’s - hid the face but Max could still make out stiff, unmoving features. And eyes; weird, inhuman eyes sunken in as though they did not belong to the face - a mask, a gaping, drooping mask of a face.

Long fingers slowly reached out, pointing towards the cup in Max’s hand.

“Uh…” Max glanced down at the cup. There was a name written on it, now ineligible thanks to Max’s sweaty palms. It didn’t matter anyway. He slowly held it out, focusing very hard on not dropping it or letting his hand shake too much and make a mess.

Those long, spindly fingers managed to wrap around the cup, the strange, rough skin brushing against Max’s hand.

“Um…that’ll be,” Beth managed to squeak out before the figure’s other hand lifted, placing something on the counter. She and Max looked down and then at each other - then their cousins - before all of them stared at the old, weathered bell that looked like something Omi might would have passed down from her family.

The ring of the doorbell jingled them to attention and everyone could only stare at the empty space where the figure had just been standing.

Max slowly picked up the bell, finally noticing an inscription carved into the ornament. “Gruss vom Krampus.”

(After that, Max had to admit it became a much merrier Christmas.)


End file.
